


Holographic

by babbyspanch, saltslimes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fake Relationship, Grave Misuse of Holographic Technology, M/M, Pining, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/pseuds/babbyspanch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is a lonely man to do when he is hopelessly in love and has cutting edge technology at his fingertips? Obviously create a holographic version of the man of his dreams. Only Simmons forgets how to cover his tracks and his secret is all too easily discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holographic

**Author's Note:**

> Holo-Grif more like HOLLOW GRIF bc he's empty inside lol

Simmons was reorganizing his armor polish on the kitchen table when Sarge came storming upstairs, making Grif drop the hot pocket he'd just pulled out of the microwave.

“Aww man,” Grif mumbled as he knelt to pick up his food. Simmons quickly turned his eyes to Sarge and kept them locked there.

"Someone's been overusin' the holo room.” Sarge announced, crossing his arms. “The projector engine coils have gone and overheated." There was a crash from below that was probably Lopez trying to fix the complex machinery. "--or something. Hard to understand exactly what the problem is," Sarge grumbled. He hated not knowing the exact state of his tech at all times.

"Well it's probably Donut and the spring musicale he’s planning ’secretly’," Grif said, standing up with his now dusty hot pocket plopped on a plate.

Simmons sat ramrod straight in his seat and started to laugh awkwardly. "Oh yeah that Donut. Probably working out... high kicks… and jazz squares.."

Grif shot Simmons a look with half his hot pocket shoved in his mouth. Simmons knew as soon as that food got swallowed he'd never hear the end of probing questions and uncomfortable teasing.

So he leapt to his feet and scurried out of the room. Because Simmons had a secret. A horrible, embarrassing secret.

Almost every night he went to the holo room when everyone was asleep and he conjured up his biggest and least likely to be fulfilled daydreams.

It started innocently enough, just Sarge telling Simmons he did good work and was proud of him.

But now, Simmons realized, it was getting out of hand. And more than a little morally bankrupt.

Every night he went downstairs and had a ‘date’ with holo-Grif. They sat close to each other and talked about feelings and Simmons could almost convince himself he had the balls to confess. That Grif would feel the same and this holographic world was just the beginning. But in the harsh light of day Simmons realized how well and truly boned he was.

And not-- as Donut would say-- in a fun way.

Fortunately Donut had wandered off to bother the blues about something, so no one confronted him about how he was rushing to his room, blushing as red as his armour. By the time he was done laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling sighing and come out from behind his locked door Lopez was done his repairs and everyone was distracted by a much bigger issue. Grif had, through an altercation with Tucker that he refused to explain, gotten the jeep blown up again.

So everyone was relegated to picking up jeep parts and trying not to make Lopez any angrier.

All day Simmons thought about the holo room and the shame that welled in his gut got stronger and stronger.

That, however, didn’t stop him from going down for one last visit in the dead of night. It would be his final one, he promised himself. But god, he couldn't just cut off the visits right away, he argued. What if he went through withdrawal?

He'd wean himself, he decided, as he slid the door to his room shut and padded in bare feet down the hall.

The dark of the base was familiar by now, many times he had ventured out into it to get some relief from the day before, specifically Grif themed relief.

Simmons rubbed the back of his naked neck as the cool air of the basement played with the small hairs there. Simmons never changed the background when he turned on holo-Grif.

He had tried once when he first started materializing Grif. He had gone and plopped them in a McDonald's restaurant to make it feel like a real date but it just felt… more fake. Now Simmons sat crosslegged beside holo-Grif with the concrete under him sucking the heat out of his ass every night. And it was perfect.

After waiting a moment to listen to the silence of the base above him, reminding himself that Lopez was powered down when he crept past, Simmons started up the simulation, and was greeted by the semi mangled holographic face of Grif, his hair shearn short (because of the helmet sweating issue) and little bits of stubble leftover on his face from sloppy shaving. So, essentially, perfect as well.

The hologram grinned when it registered Simmons in front of him and Simmons couldn't help but mirror the smile, if only a little softer.

"What's up, asshole?" asked a slightly computerized version of Grifs voice, still managing to somehow convey warmth.

"Nothing great, Dex." Simmons admitted.

"So you’ll want to get off first then?" Holo-Grif asked with a cheeky grin.

Simmons laughed quietly. "Yeah that sounds kind of ideal."

Simmons dropped down onto one of the crates scattered around the room. Across from him, holo-Grif grinned.

"Where'd we leave off?" He asked.

"I was telling you how I cleaned the entire base last time."

"Damn. Dude, you're the most dedicated guy I know."

"No one noticed."

"I noticed."

Simmons felt heat rise to his cheeks. It was sort of wonderful hearing Grif like this, saying kind things to him. It had taken a while to get used to it, the real Grif treating Simmons so differently but he was able to suspend disbelief long enough for the follow through.

"Simmons..." Holo-Grif grabbed his attention from where his mind was wandering.The projection walked over to him, close enough that Simmons would be able to feel his heat if he were human. "I'm sure you did as good a job cleaning as you do getting your rocks off, hm?"

Simmons felt his eyelids lower slightly, but he forced them halfway open. This experience of Grif in these dead of the night visits were going to end. He wanted to take in as much as he could. Slowly he slid his hand down the front of his worn pj bottoms.

Grif leaned in a little closer, almost as if he were about to touch him.

"You look perfect like this," Grif said. Simmons let out a half laugh, his heart picking up speed.

"Like this?" Simmons’ voice was already shaky.

"Exactly like this," Grif replied.

Simmons tugged himself slowly, his mouth falling open, "Keep talking, Grif-- God."

"You like hearing my voice, hm?" Grif said, voice playful and confident.

"Yes Grif." Simmons' head thunked against the crate as his dick got harder.

"You're something else Simmons. I don't know why people don't treat you like it. You're gorgeous-- not just when you're desperate and panting like this-- but always."

Simmons huffed out a laugh between his breathy noises.

"No it's true, idiot."

There was a clatter and then the sound of hushed swearing. Simmons looked up, frozen in shock. Heat flushed his face. Fuck. He was fucked.

"Donut?" He called, voice high pitched and just a touch too loud. He hoped, prayed that it wasn't Sarge.

At that thought his erection flagged completely.

The shadows shifted by the door and Simmons hurriedly shut the program down fingers clumsily racing over buttons, face flaming and nearly choking on shame and embarrassment.

"Donut listen- just- just don't tell Grif, okay? Fuck I'm- I never meant-"

"To masturbate to a holographic imitation of me praising you?" Grif demanded, stepping out into the dim light of the room. He stood tall at the top of the stairs looking down at Simmons, in more ways than one he was sure.

Simmons closed his mouth. He opened it again, and then closed it. He looked at the floor.

"Fuck. Grif, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Simmons--" Grif started, but Simmons cut him off.

"I mean, holy shit. You think me telling you to clean the inside of your helmet is bad and then there's this." He got up, starting for the stairs just thinking that he needed to get out of there because his cheeks were burning so badly it felt like his head might catch fire. “Literally programming your every move in order to get myself off--”

He took them two at a time until he was suddenly nose to nose with Grif. He hated the no one wore their helmets when they slept. He’d start doing that, he decided. If only to protect his sleeping face from the punches that were no doubt going to start happening instead of these visits.

"Simmons." Grif put a wide hand on his chest when Simmons tried to duck around him, keeping him in the doorway. "Stop okay, just listen."

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and Simmons felt a wave of frustration crash over him.

"Grif come on. We both know it's fucked up- that I’m fucked up. And I'm sorry. Can't we just leave it there?"

Grif's expression was twisted up, his mouth hard. Simmons pushed past him, expecting to make it out the door but Grif called out to him.

"Wait."

Simmons stopped, holding completely still, but refused to turn around. He couldn't look Grif in the face. Simmons heard the sound of Grifs heavy step on the staircase, thudding down to the room Simmons had spent so many nights. "Don't. Just... just, uh. Computer? Start the simulation from earlier. My-my simulation?" Grif said. Simmons stood there, frozen in place as he listened to the engine starting up. And then,

"I missed you," came from below the platform that lead to the stairs. In his own voice.

The air wooshed out of Simmons' lungs, and he slowly turned and walked back down to the simulation floor. He looked down and met his own eyes, robot half and all.

"That's... Me."

"Ha. Uh, yeah." Grif rubbed the back of his neck, "it's you. Great minds think alike, I guess?"

He turned to look at Grif, eyes still dragging on the holographic Simmons.

"It said... That it missed you?" Simmons couldn’t bring himself to say ’he’.

Grif winced. "Uhm. Yes. I made it ‘cause... call it what you want I guess but... sometimes I think... maybe. Fuck."

"What?" Simmons pressed, still standing at the top of the stairs like an idiot.

"I guess I think maybe you guys don't need me. I mean, what do I really add to red team? And so I sort of... I dunno. I come down here to not..."

"...To not be afraid," Simmons finished, quietly. Grif finally looked up from the ground, meeting his eyes. Simmons felt his heart clench. He felt as if his bones were solid rock and yet it felt like he was somehow floating off the ground.

"Yeah. Exactly." Grif whispered, the sound soft in the dark. It carried up the stairs and it felt like Grif was saying so much more than a simple admission of fear. Simmons’ chest ached and he forced his legs to move, one step down at a time. He didn't break eye contact with Grif.

"You know..." Simmons whispered too, if he spoke any louder the moment would shatter. "You, uhm... You don't really have to be afraid with me."

"Yeah, I'm realising that now," Grif half laughed, still soft and vulnerable. He rubbed the back the his neck again, glancing up at Simmons. It was just one step between him and the floor, and yet, it seemed momentous.

"You going to stay up there all night?" Grif asked. Simmons stepped down just to spite him. And then there they were. Only a few feet apart.

"So uh..." Simmons shuffled a little closer, "do you keep that fake Simmons around just for support or are there... other layers."

Grif grinned lopsidedly, crossing his arms. His eyes crinkled when he smiled like that. "That's the most diplomatic way I've ever heard anyone ask if I jerk off to them. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from you."

Simmons bit his lip and forced himself to keep looking at Grif. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Yeah well." His voice was an octave and a half higher than it had been a sentence ago.

"So then is holo-Grif just for jacking off to or would you maybe want... to... do other things? With... non-holo-Grif," Grif managed to say. It seemed like it took a lot of effort. Simmons felt his breath catch in his throat, and then, suddenly, he was grinning.

"That's the most diplomatic way I've ever heard anyone ask if they wanted to date," Simmons said. Grif laughed. And suddenly, they were... Them again.

Simmons felt his body unwind. He never realized how easy it was to be with Grif until it had been hard.

"No wonder the projector engine coils were overheating if you were having a fake relationship down here too."

Grif flicked off the computer and smiled at Simmons, gesturing upstairs with a tilt of his head and a question in his eyes.

Simmons bumped his shoulder against Grif's and together they headed up, fingers brushing twice before Simmons grabbed Grif's hand and locked them together.

When they reached the doorway Grif leaned over and with a sort of moment of held-breath hesitation, he kissed Simmons.

When Simmons kissed him back, sliding his hand up to cup the back of Grif’s head, it was the damned realest moment of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> find us on tumblr at:  
> Bloodgulchcrew.tumblr.com  
> Or just little ol' me at:  
> jupetersteel.tumblr.com


End file.
